Letters to Birdie

by L. Vocem

First published In
Qu Literary Magazine
Winter 2026
Queens University of Charlotte

Birdie, how long has it been? It feels like an eternity. After high school I saw you a couple of times coming back home to the lake, boating and skiing, going out on the jet-skis, sunbathing on your dock, right next to ours. Then poof. I guess you graduated from college and your family sold the lake house and I never saw you again. So, seeing you on Facebook, now all married and with grown-up kids, it’s quite something. Your two boys and girl are so good-looking. And your husband looks like a respectable guy. As you can see from my photos, I also got married after college. I lived in the city for a long time, but I’m back living in the lake house. It’s good to see that you are doing well and if you’re ever in Atlanta with your family, you’re welcome to come to stay with us.  

#

Birdie, I have enjoyed our conversations. I’m so sorry that your husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer, but it’s good that they caught it early. I feel for your daughter and what she is going through with pain killers. We’re not all perfect. Last year my daughter, Hellen, brought home for Thanksgiving some football player from school. He was a tall, handsome guy with one of those crooked noses that made him look more imposing. She was madly in love with the guy. But throughout the year I kept hearing my wife talking about how he cheated on Hellen and how horrible he treated her until they split up. The reason I mention all this is because when she came home for Thanksgiving this time around she brought home Shawn – a guy she had described to be more of a geek, with glasses, who was in computer science.  So when the doorbell rang and I opened the door, I was in absolute shock, realizing that this Shawn, this geek, she told me about was indeed a Black man. 

I was speechless. He wore a nice Harris Tweed jacket with a bow tie and a little fedora hat. “Aren’t you going to say hello to Shawn,” Hellen said, breaking me from my shock and giving me a big hug.

My son, Pete, about three years younger and still in high school and Ali, my younger daughter, all seemed to like him a lot. My wife, on the other hand, was reluctant. While she didn’t seem to disapprove, she kept whispering to me in the kitchen that it was just a phase, just a phase, and that soon she would find someone else. I don’t consider myself racist, but I feel that there is a place for them and then there’s a place for us. I realize that this county, Forsyth, at one point kicked all the Black people out and a few years back Hosea Williams and some protesters marched throughout the county screaming of segregation, white supremacy, and the KKK. And while I have always stayed away from all that and believed all people are equal, I prefer that they go to their own churches, live in their own neighborhoods, go to their own schools, and leave our part of the world as simple and uncomplicated as possible. Just like when we grew up here, swimming on the lake and having a good-ole time. Anyway, Birdie, I want to hear what you think. Am I overreacting? Should I let it go? For a while, you were my best friend, at least until you left for college. So, let me know.

#

Birdie, I do appreciate your advice tremendously. However, I’m torn. What we all had hoped was to just be a phase ended up being a relationship, and Hellen and her Black guy have moved in together.  They even stopped coming to the house. I have asked her what was wrong and she has said that it’s just the way we look at them. I don’t mean anything, I don’t put him down. And she mentioned the expression I had on my face when they were sunbathing by the dock and boats kept passing by and seeing the two of them, a White woman and a Black man rubbing suntan lotion on each other. She was shocked that her mother and I looked embarrassed. What was I to do? 

They moved to an area of town in the city, Decatur, filled with liberals. They say it’s the next up-and-coming area of town. Margaret and I were planning to go down for a visit, when out of the blue, Shawn called me and talked to me very politely, the “how’s the business and how are you doing mister Laima” and then he dropped the bomb. He asked for my daughter’s hand in matrimony. I didn’t know what to say. So, I said that it sounded good, but that I wanted to ask Margaret first so we could give them a full blessing. I told my wife about it and she said that she had to digest the information so as not to tell them anything right away.

Honestly, I was so busy with work opening a third hardware store and a sod place for contractors that I did not call them back. Finally, I spoke to Hellen about it, and that we could plan the idea of the wedding when she cut me off and said not to worry, they had eloped. They had dinner with his parents and as a wedding gift, they were going to give them money for the down payment to buy the run-down house where they lived in the city.

I didn’t know what to say.

#

Life is going well. I’m so sorry that your daughter was put in a rehab center. What was it? How did her depression escalate into prescription meds and opioids? 

We finally went to visit Hellen and her Black husband at their house in Decatur. They call that area Oakhurst, and as we drove around to get there, my wife said that it was scary, that every house around looked like some type of crack house. After we parked on the street, Margaret didn’t want to get out of the car, repeating that this was a mistake, this was a ghetto, a slum, that no daughter of hers should be living in such a place. I confronted her and convinced her to go in. Hellen and her husband received us with open arms. I was surprised as to how well they had decorated the little house. The wooden floors creaked with every step we took. They told us the history of the house dating back to the twenties. They grilled some incredible steaks. Next door to their house, another couple, a White couple, started grilling as well and they exchanged some pleasantries and introductions. As we drove home, I was beginning to see what my daughter saw in this guy. He was industrious, worked very hard for some software company, labored like crazy over their little house and doted on Hellen like she was a goddess. Yet Margaret pressed her head towards the window as if she were having conversations with herself. She shook her head every now and then, letting her thoughts pour out into words, “that’s not going to work, oh God.”

#

Yeh hay!! I’m so happy that your husband went into remission and one of your sons got admitted to law school. That is awesome. I wish I could say the same. It’s kind of weird. My son is now a Junior in high school and well, he brought some girl to the house to go swimming on the lake and take the jet skis out and have some fun. No big deal. The only problem is that this incredibly attractive young lady happens to be Black. Well, she is East Indian, is what she says. Speaks with a British accent. Her family has a lot of money, they also have a boat somewhere in one of the docks on the lake and I say, kids have a great time. Unfortunately, when Margaret got back from work and saw this, she practically pitched a fit. She began with, it’s getting late, you got to go. After the girl left, Margaret hit Pete with question after question about the girl, where she came from, her family. She was definitely upset. My son said, “What’s up with you mom?” 

In bed, Margaret got on me that I should not allow this, she was not going to have all her children end up with colored people. That it had to stop. She told me that I had to talk to him. I don’t want to talk about this stuff. She’s a cool girl. And kids are going to do what they are going to do anyway. The truth of the matter is, while Forsyth may have a history of racism, we also have the lake here, and the only thing that matters in the lake is money. You got money, you live here. Period. Now, I didn’t press, but Margaret did, making his life impossible for several months, until one day he came to the house with a couple of friends from school and two blonde girls. I let it go.

#

I just wanted to check, since I have not heard from you in a while. The business is doing well.  Your old house, the one with that opulent two-story dock and slide, is in a horrible state of disrepair. The house is for sale, so if you ever want to move back to Georgia, this would be your chance. Hellen and her husband, Shawn, have warmed up to us and every now and then come up to the lake house. I’ve noticed that my daughter has a belly, even though they would not tell us until after they invited us for dinner at their little house in what my wife calls “the dump.” But there’s construction around the area and a lot of the houses are being renovated, what Hellen calls being gentrified. To our surprise, his parents were there, too. Shawn’s father is ex-military and still walks and talks like an Army man. His mother is a real estate attorney who came from a family of professional football players. At dinner, they both talked about the drills that they set for Shawn and his brothers and sisters because, unless they went to college on an academic or athletic scholarship, they were just two steps from being thrown back into the ghetto and they would not allow that. His father joked about how Shawn was absolutely useless with a football and could not dribble a basketball if his life depended on it, but he was a vicious killer on the chess team. I was beginning to like this guy, I realized that in our own isolation we saw them as “they” going to different churches, living in different neighborhoods, kept apart in separate schools when he was no different than me, other than shit, he commanded troops, while I commanded clerks, cashiers, and salespeople at my stores. Even Margaret liked them, but still commented that the neighborhood was a dump and it would take twenty years to turn it around.

#

Oh my god, I just have to talk to you. Share my joy. We just had our granddaughter’s first birthday party and what a jewel she is. I loved all my kids when they were born. But she is so incredibly different. One of her eyes is a mix of blue and hazel, the other one is brown. Her hair is super wavy but blonde and her skin is this mocha milk chocolate color and her lips are plump, taking after her father, but her smile takes after my daughter. I was mesmerized as I drove home. It was as if a whole new world of what we Americans are all about exploded before me. I was now blood connected to people that came from slaves. I look at my past, my family came to America after the Second World War from Lithuania. My dad knew hardship and how low humans can go. Margaret came up from a family that served in the Confederate army, but had no slaves and instead suffered through Reconstruction and was obliterated during the Depression. And here we are, trying to figure out this incredible new future. I didn’t grow up with Black people around me here in Forsyth, so we vilified them, just like in the cowboys and Indians movies, where the natives were shot dead without thinking about them, or who they were, but in reality, they are all humans, with stories, struggles, successes, hard work. No different for me, no different for Black people. And now mixed with my blood.

Please tell me what you think. How does this compare to when we grew up here surrounded by Confederate flags? Even though to us back then, they didn’t mean anything until the idea hurt someone.

#

My youngest daughter, Ali, got married. I guess weddings are nothing but stress, stress, and pissing people off. I tried to stay away from the planning. Margaret, Ali, and Mckensey, the boy’s mother, handled most of it. Then after the wedding, I heard the fallout. That not enough of Shawn’s family were invited, that some people commented that at least she married a White person. Hellen was furious and threw at us how racist this county was and why she hated it up here.

Then my son Pete interjected and said that they hated moving up to the lake. Back when we lived in the city, they had their friends and were quite happy where there were tons of Latinos, Blacks, Asians, and while there were still tensions, it was cool. After my father’s death, I moved the family up here, thinking they would love it, thinking that they could end up with the type of memories I had growing up by the water. 

For several months, Hellen was upset at us. I took every opportunity I could to go down there to the city, to see my granddaughter and her huge smile. My own daughter was kind of cold to me, but Shawn was welcoming and even spent some time talking. It turned out he grew up in Germany where his dad was stationed, and when they returned to the states, his mom decided to go back to school and got a law degree.  He told me how she used to talk about the Civil Rights Movement and all the things she wanted to do with the NAACP, but in the end, the family needed money and while his dad was adjusting to civilian life, she brought in the dough and became a real estate attorney. Kind of boring, he said. But I think he was paraphrasing what his mother may have said. 

Margaret, on the other hand, doesn’t like going down to the city. She thinks it’s dangerous, there are no zoning laws. When we visit, she smiles a lot, helps clean up, and she’s happy when we pack the car and drive up. 

So finally, I got them to come over to the house again. I know it is a long drive from the city, but it was quite a pleasure to take my granddaughter out on a jet ski and hear her giggle and scream behind my back. We grilled on the dock. It made me remember the times in the summer when we would jump in the warm water and just hang in there and talk about the world, and babble stupid nonsense until the air shined with lighting bugs, cicadas screeched, and we had to get out of the water and go to our houses with parched skin.

#

I don’t know how to talk about this.  It’s too weird. And I do not quite understand. All the kids were at the house. We had a great time. The newlyweds were there. Ali and Mark are such a cute couple.  Shawn had to go back to the city to finish a big project. Hellen was going to stay with us. Then, we did not hear from him. Late into the night, after calling everyone, from his office to coworkers and friends, we decided to call the police and found out that he was in a hospital and had been arrested.

We drove to the hospital. There was a police officer in the entrance of his room and they would not let anyone other than Hellen in. Hellen kept asking what was going on, what happened, and they would not respond. A few days later he went home. We drove to the city to see them. Shawn’s father was there, too. It turned out Shawn had two broken ribs, a concussion, a black eye, and lacerations to his nose. The charges were assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, and some other more lawyer-like language that I could not comprehend.

Eventually, we all ended up in his room.  His dad asked him what had happened. Shawn was rather spacey and, while taking a deep breath, said that the police officer yanked him out of the car, lifted him in the air, and slammed him to the ground. After putting his weight on him, he passed out.

“You’re lucky you passed out, son,” his dad said. “Otherwise, you would be dead.”

Silence filled the room, then his dad said, “Remember the drills we went through as to what you do when you’re in a situation with a police officer?”

“Dad yes, but.”

“But what?”

Shawn looked at his father like he had done something wrong. He said that the cop stopped him because of an expired tag.

“He told me that the sticker was not there. It was there, maybe not in the lower right corner, but I knew the sticker was there. He starts to tell me to relax. To not antagonize him. I told him that I could show him all that he needed to see and when I moved my hands – it all went nuts.”

There was silence in the room. Shawn began to weep as if he knew what he had possibly done wrong and landed him in this predicament.

We all showed up to court, stood up, sat down as if we were in church before the Lord. The case was dismissed. But a few months later as the fall arrived and we were grilling on the dock and the girls were playing by the house, Shawn told me that what happened broke him. He grew up in Germany in an American military base, that was the beacon of the values of the free world, but here at home, he was reduced to nothing.

I didn’t know what to tell him. I made a fist and threw it in mid-air.  He made a fist and joined me in the middle in solidarity. Then we finished grilling the burgers and took them to the house.

#

Birdie, the house next to yours is for sale. You mentioned a few times that you would love to come back to Georgia. The dock is not as opulent as yours used to be. But at what used to be your house, your dock is in such a state of disrepair that it is practically falling apart. I remember when you, I, and a few of our friends would hang out on the dock, take the jet skis, go with your dad or my dad skiing, or to that restaurant across the lake. Those were the times.

Something weird happened the other day as I was driving home. One of the neighbors started a conversation by the mail boxes and he was telling me that he had an argument with one of the real estate agents. He was sick and tired of them bringing Black people to see these properties. That they should not do that. That he had paid way too much money for his property, to then have his property values plummet. You know, years ago I would have agreed with him. Said, yeah. But not now, not anymore. What a racist. But I guess we can grow. Perhaps it’s fear of the unknown, fear of those cultural stereotypes. I don’t know. I will send you the information on the house. You may like it.

#

The difference a phone with a camera makes. Shawn and Hellen were stopped by the police. This time for failing to use the turn signal to turn right. It has been many years since Shawn was beaten by the police. Hellen told me that he went into a panic attack and held the steering wheel for dear life, hyperventilating and whispering “I don’t want to die.”

Hellen took out her phone and as the police officer approached the car, she began to record. If only there was a video of when the cops smashed him to the ground and sent him to the emergency room. The police officer asked for a driver’s license and registration and Shawn could not move. The cop then asked again, reaching for his holster. Then my daughter told the police officer that her husband was in shock.

“Why would that be if he doesn’t have anything to hide?” the police officer said.  

She had it. She told the police officer, now in a stern way, that many years back, when there were no body cams or phone video, he was violently thrown to the ground by a police officer, broke several ribs, had a concussion, and was arrested.

“The case was dismissed,” she screamed at the police officer. “But he has had to endure PTSD ever since. Do you understand, sir?”

The police officer looked at her with a blank expression, then at Shawn, and back at her.

“Sir! Do you?”

To my daughter’s surprise, the police officer asked her if she could reach for his driver’s license. Shawn was frozen to the steering wheel, shaking and sweating. She reached into his pocket and pulled out the license and registration and extended them across him to the police officer. He grabbed it and went back to his car.

“It’s going to be alright, baby,” she kept telling him. The police officer came back to the car and handed them his license. “I’m going to let you go with a warning. But please, slow down, drive safely.”

The police car left and they sat there for a while. As if waking up from a bad dream, he turned and looked at my daughter, started the engine, and drove.

My daughter was angry with tears in her eyes when she told me, looking at Shawn playing with my granddaughter outside on the deck, the view of the lake behind him.

#

I can’t believe I finally saw you in person. You are still as beautiful and lucid as when we used to swim between the docks and whisper what we thought about the world. Again, my condolences. I’m so sorry that your husband’s cancer came back. I told Margaret about it, and it was her who said that we just had to fly over for the funeral. I know these things are not easy and we barely had time to talk. Your children look great. I think I heard your son say that he wants to run for the state legislature. And your daughter is now a beautiful mom of two.

On my end, Hellen and Shawn had a boy, my younger daughter had twins, and my middle boy, well, he doesn’t want to get married. After college, he took a job teaching English in China and spends his time traveling Asia. Every now and then, he posts some video on his page, eating street foods in Malaysia or some weird city in Azerbaijan. Your house was finally sold to a doctor, which totally pissed off my other neighbor since the doctor happens to be Black. He is the head of some institute and he’s quite a pleasant guy. We find ourselves many times enjoying the sunset by the dock, him drinking red Jamaica tea, me drinking a glass of wine.

#

What a year it has been. First, my son was locked down in China, and soon enough the pandemic spread all over the place. Mark, my other son-in-law, who was returning from New York, got really sick and went to the hospital, but at that time they didn’t know what it was, so they gave him some antibiotics and treated him as if he had an upper pulmonary infection. Margaret started spending a lot of time over at their house in East Cobb to help with the twins.   Before you knew it, we were all wearing masks. Unfortunately, this area is very conservative and many people politicized it and refused to wear them.

Then one day I saw this video through social media of a man being held to the ground in a chokehold until he died and it made me really angry. I called my daughter and Shawn. They had seen it.  They were angry, as well. That weekend we gathered around her little house in Oakhurst as Shawn’s mother arrived with poster boards, markers, and masks. We wrote messages on them. “I can’t breathe,” was written on some of them. Shawn’s brothers and sisters, his father and mother came. We all held signs, we all wore our masks, scared that we could get sick, but with a bigger purpose that we needed to come out and demonstrate.

Margaret did not join us. She said we went too far, it was dangerous and unhealthy, she didn’t want to risk being exposed. There were demonstrations all over the world. It was good. Black, White, Asian, Latinos held signs, demanding change. The whole world joined us after that.

#

I guess it’s official. Margaret and I are separated. She moved to my younger daughter’s house in East Cobb. She said at first that she just wanted to help with the twins, that they were so busy with work they needed a hand. On the weekends, instead of coming back to the lake she would stay there. Then one day she called, and said that we had drifted too far apart. I asked her, I implored her to let me know what had I done, how could we correct this. And she said it was nothing in particular, just that flame slowly faded until a gust of wind blew it away.  It’s crazy, on the weekends, Hellen, Shawn and her kids come to the house, while Margaret, Ali, her husband and the twins do their thing in that part of town.

#

Birdie, this may be the last email we send each other. Maybe not. So first of all, congratulations on buying the house opposite your old house. I guess that idiot could not stand where the neighborhood was going. I’m glad you bought it. Now we can gather on the dock, Dr. Thurman and his wife, you and your daughter and grandkids, my kids, well the ones that come to the house, and talk, reminisce, and watch the sunsets and as the sun goes down, see the reflection of the other houses across the cove. 

I still have those memories of when we floated on the warm water, talked, laughed, dreamed, felt a fish pick at our toe and scared the bejesus out of us. Maybe there were monsters under the water, maybe just little fish. But I loved that expression on your face after the shock, smiling back, shaking the water out of your face.